Deja Vu

By E.S. Wynn
Posted Wednesday, August 1, 2012 at 12:00 AM

Contributor: Justine M Dunn

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I stop off at the little cafe on my way to work, they make the best coffee in town and without doubt always have the best selection of cakes. At that time of the morning you can smell the scones baking, I have to use all my willpower not to take anything away other than a coffee. But I know I will resist buying one today.

There is just one lady ahead of me, she is already being served. As I stand in line the sound of a motorbike breaks the silence of the quiet high street. I look out the window to see the rider, dressed in leathers, just swinging his leg over to dismount his huge road machine. He pulls his gloves off and rests them on the seat, then takes off his helmet and shakes his head. His sandy coloured curls spring into life. He runs his fingers through his hair; giving his scalp an invigorating rub. He’s talking to someone out of sight, he picks up his gloves and gestures towards the cafe - and just a moment later, he’s on the same side of the door as me.

There is something familiar about this handsome young man that has just entered the shop, but I can’t put my finger on it. I watch him as he flirts with the girl as she works; clearly, she finds him enchanting. Her cheeks flush as she looks up at him from under her mascara-clad eyelashes. I wish it were me, twenty years younger and standing on that side of the counter.

The lady in front pays up and gathers her things, then it’s my turn to order. I request my usual coffee; no milk or sugar, just a shot of caramel syrup.

The young biker says he is in a hurry, and asks if I mind him being served first; he only wants a can of coke. I say I don’t mind, step aside and suspect that the drink in his hand isn’t the only reason he’s here. The young girl takes his money and gives him his change, their eyes meet and they hold each others gaze for a few seconds. I turn away, slightly embarrassed by the sexual tension in the air.

He says goodbye and leaves the shop, the girl goes about making my coffee. Only when I look up again I notice that he has left his gloves on the counter. Without thinking I pick them up and take them outside, he is just revving up his engine ready to pull away. I call out to him but he doesn’t hear me. Rushing up to him I tap him on the arm. At that precise moment a strange feeling of deja vu washes over me; I have done this before, I feel. Only as we each go about our movements I can predict what is about to happen next. But just one nanosecond in advance, not enough time to change anything.

He will turn and face me, I will speak, but again, the engine will drown out my voice. I will hold up his gloves, he will look at them and turn his front wheel back to centre. All of this I know. He will take them from me and thank me - unsure how he’s managed to leave them behind. I will smile, shrug my shoulders and go back inside the shop feeling pleased with myself for helping. He will put on his gloves, turn his front wheel and accelerate out onto the road. I will turn at this point and look at him through the window of the cafe. Just in time to see him parted from his bike by a large white truck, and thrown fifteen feet through the air like a rag doll. The girl will drop my coffee, scream and run outside. I will stay exactly where I am; pinned to floor, unable to move, wishing I had left him alone.

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Justine Dunn is British and currently living in Slovenia, she writes flash fiction, adult humour, and has recently finished writing her first book, Beach Lanes. She blogs, tweets and generally avoids the real world.

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Author: Justine M Dunn

Time Frame

By E.S. Wynn
Posted Saturday, June 23, 2012 at 12:00 AM

Contributor: Justine M Dunn

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My wife and I sat by the river drinking beer, as we often did on a Saturday afternoon. The streets were busy, the sunshine a welcome visitor after a week of sporadic weather. We watched the pedestrians flow past in their hundreds; some dressed for dinner others looked ready for the beach.

We chewed our courtesy peanuts as we chatted and I waved the waitress for another round of beers. Just as my arm reached its resting position on my thigh, my wife gasped and stared at me wide eyed.
“What happened to you just then?” She said, snatching her sunglasses away from her face.
“What do you mean?”
“You vanished. I blinked, and then for a tiny, tiny second you weren’t there.”
“Um, I haven’t gone anywhere.” I replied, confused at her sudden outburst and slightly embarrassed by the flutter of attention by the couple on the next table.
She sat bolt upright in her chair, her hands clutching the armrests whilst the thumb of her right hand pinched hold of the arm of her shades.
“You vanished.” She said, deadly seriously.
“Shh, calm down.” I touched her lightly on her knee, she watched my hand as it returned to my lap once again. “You must have just done a funny blink and it looked like I wasn’t here.”
“A funny blink?”
“I don’t know, maybe you’re eye rolled around a bit and didn’t quite focus properly when you opened it.” I was clutching at straws but had little else to offer. I hadn’t gone anywhere, but the look on her face told me she thought differently.
“I swear to God, for a moment, just like a flash, you weren’t there.” She put her sunglasses on the table and looked at her hand. “Look, I’m shaking.”
I took hold of her hand and squeezed it.
“You think I imagined it don’t you?” She was getting upset now.
“No, but I don’t really have an explanation for you. As far as I’m aware I have just been sitting here the whole time so I don’t think there’s much I can say.”
“Well that was only our second beer, I’m far from drunk.” She was chewing her nail now, a sure sign she was upset.
“Look, let’s just forget about it.” I suggested, hoping she would calm down a little.
“Forget about it?”
“I really don’t know what else we can do.”
“You don’t believe me do you?”
One of the things I love most about my wife, and I have done since our very early days, is that what’s written on her face reflects exactly what she’s feeling inside. She has an honestly so pure I swear she is heaven sent. She is unable to even tell the smallest of fibs; even acceptable ones when it’s Christmas or a friends birthday. Her face reveals what her soul is feeling and as I looked at her then, I knew without a doubt that she believed what she was saying. Even so, I still had no explanation for it.
“Of course I believe you, but...” My sentence trailed off and became little more than a sigh.
She pushed her chair back and stood up, said she was going to the toilet. I watched her leave, wishing I had some form of answer for her.

I took another sip of my beer and tried to make sense of the last sixty seconds. I watched the people as they passed by in their summer clothing, hats and flip flops. I just wearing a snow jacket? The thought entered my mind from nowhere. And, wasn’t I in a place without many people around? Indoors, there were only a few of us, all cold and confused? Thoughts and questions were flooding into my mind now, the more that came the more that followed. We were left alone for hours, tired and hungry. I reached for my beer, now it was my turn to have the shakes. It remained on the table while I clenched my fists. The waitress brought over the next round, I told her I had finished with the previous one. I sat forward and lifted the fresh pint with both hands, bringing the glass to my mouth like a child.

As I sat by the river in the city, the church bells chimed. Out of tune but reliable, they chimed to announce that it was three o’clock in the afternoon, we had left our home just one hour ago. I glanced down at my wrist; it was a habit of mine to check the time against that of my Rolex, though its reliability never failed me. According to my watch eight hours had passed since we left the house.

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British born and currently living in Slovenia. Writes flash fiction and has recently completed her first novel.

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